


if a thing loves, it is infinite

by Tatsumaki_sama



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Dysfunctional Family, Family Feels, Family Issues, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Poison, Protectiveness, Uncle Dante (Devil May Cry), Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-01-16 01:25:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18511093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tatsumaki_sama/pseuds/Tatsumaki_sama
Summary: Nero was more human than demon. Vergil and Dante were painfully reminded of that fact.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was just an excuse to write Hurt!Nero and to have a protective Dante and Vergil and have family feels all around. I love the idea that Vergil wants to get to know Nero better but doesn't know how to “dad” amidst his own issues, and thus, acts awkward around Nero. I also wanted to write Uncle!Dante who acts as the mediator in-between Nero and Vergil and I like to think to some degree Vergil would be envious of Nero's relationship with Dante. 
> 
> Hope I got their characterizations right because I had a bit of trouble writing Vergil. Just had to include one of William Blake's poems for the title.

Nero woke up feeling like he had been stabbed in the chest.

 

Though considering his line of work, he was not entirely surprised.

 

But he was surprised by the fact that someone was carrying him in their arms.

 

He blinked blearily said person, catching a glimpse of white hair. For a wild moment, his throat constricted at the thought that Vergil – his _father_ – was carrying him.

 

But then, his vision cleared slightly and Nero was able to recognize a familiar red jacket and he wasn't sure if he should be consoled by the fact it was Dante carrying him and not Vergil like he had initially believed.

 

Or if he should be disappointed.

 

Dante was speaking, words fading and weaving in and out. Nero could feel the rumble of each syllable as his cheek was pressed against Dante's chest.

 

“ – consider yourself lucky, I don't do this to just anyone,” Dante was saying, once Nero managed to strain to hear him. “ Well maybe, if it was a lady pretty enough to catch my eye – ”

 

The urge to roll his eyes came almost unconsciously. It was almost a reflex when it came to dealing with Dante.

 

“ You – talk – too much,” Nero rasped out, surprised to find blood coating his mouth.

 

“ Sleeping Beauty is awake after all,” Dante grinned. Though Nero was able to detect a quiet sense of relief in Dante's voice underneath his light teasing. Was it _that_ bad that Dante was worried for him? And why hadn't his healing abilities kicked in yet? “ Don't get used to this though. You're not my type.”

 

Nero snorted. The motion jogged his entire body and he couldn't help but grimace in pain, even if he hated appearing so weak and helpless in front of Dante and –

 

A hazy distant memory skimmed the edges of Nero's mind. He remembered running towards Vergil, his body moving on its own accord, desperate to protect his father when an enemy took advantage of an unguarded back.

 

“ Is my – is he okay?” he mumbled.

 

Dante gave him a strange look. Before he could answer, someone else did.

 

“ I am well,” the stoic and sophisticated tone of Vergil's voice made its way through his pain-filled haze. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open, but Nero spotted the man himself coming into his periphery beside his brother, clothing impeccably crisp and proper.

 

“ That was a foolish thing you did,” Vergil sternly said and it made Nero want to laugh – if his chest didn't feel like there was a painfully heavy weight on it, he would have – that he hadn't expect anything less of a reaction from his father.

 

“ Guess – you owe me – another one,” he managed to say.

 

Vergil's mouth pressed into a tight line.

 

As much as he wanted to throw another taunt his father's way, just to gain the upper hand on him, Nero could feel the darkness creeping and gnawing at his vision. The pain was spreading over his entire body, numbing and chilling him down to his very bones. His exhaustion was pulling him under fast and he was powerless to stop it.

 

“ Hey, kid. No nodding off now.” Dante's voice was sharp.

 

“ Stay awake, Nero,” his father ordered harshly, a crack in his otherwise emotionless facade.

 

The combination of both their voices was almost enough to make Nero fight and claw his way back to consciousness.

 

But in the end, he couldn't.

 

~.~.~

 

The boy appeared small in Dante's arms.

 

His head lolled lifelessly against his elbow, dangling like a puppet without its strings. Blotches of red were contrasting his pale cheeks, highlighting the beginnings of a fever. He could feel the heat of the wound festering from Nero's chest where he had been impaled. The poison that neither he or Vergil knew how to counteract was spreading fast.

 

Dante hefted Nero a little higher, a little closer.

 

Vergil brushed past them without another word. Another person might have taken it as Vergil being uncaring and indifferent in regards to his own flesh and blood. But Dante knew his brother well enough – fingers clenched tightly against his side, shoulders stiff and taut, teeth grinding, breathing forced – to know that Vergil was as concerned for Nero as he was.

 

“ This wasn't your fault,” Dante firmly said.

 

“ The demon who impaled my son had his head cut off in retribution,” Vergil coolly responded, eyes remaining forward. If Dante were to make an educated guess, it was almost like Vergil was too _afraid_ to turn around and look behind him, to look at Nero.

 

His brother calmly stated the demon had his head taken off, but Dante saw; he saw how Vergil tore and cut the demon to pieces with frightful precision and a deadly ferocity at the sight of Nero collapsing and unsuccessfully attempting to pull out the tail that dug through his chest.

 

Vergil's pace quickened, as if to say _hurry up, you're too slow, he doesn't have much time_.

 

The rest of the trip back to Nico's van was done in silence, other than the sounds of Nero's hoarse breathing.

 

Any light-hearted banter that Nico was about to say didn't make it past her mouth when she saw their grim expressions and the unconscious Nero being carried by his uncle. “ Where to?” she asked promptly.

 

“ Back to the shop,” Dante curtly said, as he carefully placed Nero down on the worn out couch.

 

Nico was already behind the wheel, revving up the van.

 

“ And Nico?”

 

She turned around, foot hovering impatiently over the gas pedal.

 

“ Drive fast.”

 

Nico didn't need to be told twice.

 

~.~.~

 

If Vergil had thought the walk back to the van was insufferable, then the drive back to the shop was just as detestable.

 

Whereas before he was able to walk and do _something_ and focus on anything else other than the boy that was being cradled in his brother's arms, now he was trapped within the suffocating confines of the van with nothing to do but watch Nero.

 

The boy – his _son_ , he had to remind himself – twisted restlessly underneath the tattered blanket Dante managed to find, his rest uneasy and troubled.

 

Vergil had no memory of him or Dante being sick or injured enough that their mother had to fuss and tend to them. They had always been healthy owing to their father's demonic blood that ran through their veins.

 

Nero however was less demon than they were (more human, easier to get hurt, quicker to die, just like his mother) and more susceptible to illnesses. Did not Nico told them earlier the story of how Nero finished a hunt during a thunderstorm and ended up catching a cold and sneezed so much during the night that it woke up half of his neighbourhood?

 

This was not an enemy that Vergil could slay. This was not someone he could defeat and bring down to their knees and make them concede to his demands. This was not something he could beat into submission with power alone.

 

Without power, he could not do anything to ease his son's pain.

 

Without power, he was nothing.

 

A keening moan broke Vergil for his thoughts.

 

Nero shifted, eyes squeezed shut, breathing shallow and strained. His fingers splayed out against the blanket, tugging uselessly against it. “ Wait – don't go,” he slurred. “ Credo, don't – you can't leave Kyrie ... and me ... ”

 

That name had no meaning to him, but it must be someone important for Nero to call out for them in a feverish daze. There was a slight jab of regret of how little he knew about his son.

 

Vergil couldn't decide if he should move and reach out for Nero, to comfort the boy. He tried to recall the times his mother had done so, how gentle her touches were, how she held him tight and pressed her forehead against his, murmuring assurances and promises that everything was all right and she was right here for him.

 

Long ago, he thought she was wrong, that she was lying, she never cared for him, she loved his brother more. But now, now he was a parent like her and Nero was hurting and what would he give to ease that suffering from his own child?

 

(perhaps it was for the better, anything Vergil touched often ended up broken by his hands)

 

He couldn't make up his mind by the time Dante beat him to it.

 

With a carefulness Vergil was surprised to see that he was capable of, Dante leaned over Nero to brush back his sweat-soaked hair. “ Easy, kid,” he said gruffly. “ It's no good dwelling on things like that. You and the little lady will be fine. You got us now.”

 

And just like that, Nero settled back down, leaning contently into Dante's hand as if relishing the touch. And Dante's hand remained on Nero's forehead for an inordinate long time before finally withdrawing.

 

The two of them had history, carrying an unspoken trust and mutual fondness for each other. Nero called him 'old man' with affection and Dante returned it with a teasing 'kid', their nicknames for each other easily rolling off their tongues like it was meant to be.

 

A surge of resentment filled Vergil's very core at how casual and close Dante and Nero were. Nero was _his_ son and he had every right to be possessive over what little he had to call his own.

 

It seemed unfair that Dante would have the lion's share of Nero's love and attention.

 

Dante took and took and took from Vergil, even when they were children, Dante who had more of mother's love, and now, he decided to steal Nero from him too.

 

Nico barely parked the van when Vergil stood up and shouldered past his brother to take up Nero in his arms.

 

It was strange, for Nero to feel so light and heavy at the same time.

 

This was the closest the two of them had been, when they weren't exchanging swords and fists. In fact, Vergil cannot remember the last time he had allowed himself to touch anyone without the intent to do harm or draw blood.

 

(he wanted to reach out for Nero before, extend a hand, brush against his shoulder, but he always held back, never daring to cross that boundary)

 

Dante raised an eyebrow, but stepped back, understanding what he wanted. It shouldn't have irked him as much as it did, that his brother was able to read him so well. “ Watch his head,” Dante advised instead.

 

“ I know what to do,” Vergil bit back.

 

 _but do you_ _ **really**_ _know?_ a harsh cackle that sounded suspiciously like an old bird followed after him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I originally thought about adding more Trish, Lady and Nico interacting and fussing over Nero but I wanted to focus more on the Vergil-Dante-Nero relationship. Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos! It made my day reading them all.

The poison this type of demon exuded was powerful enough to paralyse other demons and its prey, Lady had explained, and downright kill any unfortunate human it came across.

 

Nero's demon blood, as little as it was, gave him a fighting chance. There were certain plants with long names that made Dante's head spin that would be needed to create an antidote.

 

Vergil almost immediately volunteered to gather them which received surprised looks from the girls – the same kind of stunned look they had when Vergil stepped into the shop with Nero carried in his arms without so much a glance at them.

 

Lady looked like she might rather swallow one of her grenades than accompany him but for Nero's sake, she kept silent.

 

Leaving Dante as the sole caretaker for Nero while the other three – four including Nico as the driver – were out.

 

Sitting and waiting was never Dante's strong points as he checked and double checked on Nero, attempting to read a magazine and calling Kyrie and letting her know that Nero was staying over at his place for a bit longer (she was a smart girl, able to read through his lies, said she would be there first thing in the morning, she asked him to look after Nero in the meanwhile, please and thank you, until she got there).

 

The wound on Nero's chest was thankfully healing, slow as it was due to what remained of Nero's demonic blood, bleeding a little less now due to the bandages Lady managed to apply, edges starting to scab over. Sometimes it was easy to forget that Nero was more human than him and Vergil, with the feats the boy was able to perform.

 

He made a mental note to get a hold of a first aid kit and to stock up on some medications once this all boiled over.

 

There was a muttered curse coming from the couch just as Dante was scanning through some pharmacies advertisements. Nero's eyes fluttered open groggily just as Dante reached his side. “ Mornin', sunshine,” he cheekily said. “ Good to see you back in the land of the living. How are you feeling?”

 

Dante was satisfied to see that despite the hazy glaze over his eyes, Nero was not trapped in a fevered nightmare like before. “ Like I was ran over by Nico,” he groaned.

 

Dull eyes darted around, squinting at everything within the vicinity. Almost as if Nero was trying to locate something.

 

Or someone.

 

“ He, Trish and Lady are out doing some gardening,” he supplied, somewhat helpfully. “ They'll be back before you know it, with Nico's driving and all.”

 

Regardless, there was a gleam of disappointment, even in Nero's fever-bright eyes. Perhaps he had been hoping his father would be staying by his side.

 

The boy seemed desperate to prove himself around Vergil and for him to recognize Nero as his son, almost as much as Vergil was hesitant and unsure of what to say or do whenever he and Nero shared the same breathing space, tending to remain aloof and distant. And before they knew it, several unsaid things began to pile up and the strained, tense silence between them grew worse.

 

Dante sighed, feeling a headache encroaching. Talking and expressing feelings properly like a normal family wasn't a strong point for any of them. “ You didn't see him earlier. He carried you back inside.”

 

Nero snorted, as much as he was able to. “ Right.”

 

“ It's true. He is a dumbass but he means well.”

 

Any sarcastic jab that Nero wanted to make was drowned out by a pained groan as he shifted to get into a more comfortable position. “ Get some rest, kid,” Dante said, gently ruffling Nero's hair. “ There's plenty of time for your old man to mother over you if that's what you want.”

 

He got a middle finger for his trouble and Dante laughed, a brief reprieve in the moment.

 

~.~.~

 

There was flecks of blood and vomit and spit all over Vergil's jacket and shirt.

 

In normal circumstances, he would not have cared. But it had belonged to Nero and that was all that mattered.

 

Within an hour of administering the antidote to Nero, the boy began violently retching.

 

Vergil had all but shouted at Lady that the antidote was only making things worse. She snapped back that she hadn't been expecting Nero to start throwing up like that. She had known some of the herbs had a purification effect but not to this extent.

 

They had been close to coming to blows when Trish stepped in between them and told them under no circumstances to either back down or she would kick them both out.

 

She then sent them to separate jobs for them to cool off and to help Nero rather than exacerbate the situation. But Vergil would have none of it unless he remained by Nero's side. Trish was wise enough not to argue.

 

That was how Vergil found himself holding a bucket underneath Nero as he heaved the remainders of what he had eaten earlier that morning. It was an unpleasant job and even worse to be only able to watch as Nero hunched over and to listen the sounds of him gagging and the splatter of vomit hitting the bucket.

 

Vergil's hands twitched and clenched uselessly around the bucket. There wasn't even enough time to move the boy into the washroom like he originally wanted. The urge to vomit appeared to be triggered by the littlest, most insignificant things.

 

Nero groaned as he leaned back against the wall, pressing one hand over his abdomen. His wound had reopened, contributing to the blood Nero had coughed up alongside the vomit. “ Think I threw up my entire stomach,” he croaked out.

 

An improbably statement but Vergil would not disapprove that theory at the moment with the gaunt and miserable manner his son was looking. It was evident that Nero inherited his uncle's perchance to joke at any occasion.

 

Speaking of the man, Dante was suspiciously missing after leaving a few water bottles, a second bucket and towels next to them. Wondering if this was Dante's way of telling him _go interact with your son like a normal father despite the fact he is puking up his guts like he went through a couple of bars, don't screw it up_ , Vergil took a water bottle and handed it to Nero. “ Drink,” he ordered.

 

Eyes screwed shut and looking green at the very sight of it, Nero shook his head.

 

Vergil frowned. He continued pushing the water bottle under Nero's nose.

 

He got a glare that would have sent most people fleeing for their lives. Except Vergil was not most people and he returned Nero's glower with one of his own, refusing to budge on the matter. “ You _will_ drink,” he said with a hardened edge of impatience.

 

Did the boy not realize he needed fluids to maintain his strength? Did he want to get sicker and weaker? Why was he being so stubborn at neglecting his own health?

 

Perhaps this was a moment where the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Perhaps there was something inherent in the Sparda bloodline that made its descendants obstinate and resolute in their ways. And Nero, as the latest of its line, was no different.

 

After a moment, Nero made a disgruntled sound and turned his head away. “ You don't get it,” he huffed.

 

It sounded so juvenile and childish that Vergil was momentarily taken back. Nero wasn't entirely wrong as he had never experienced being sick like he was. He could not relate to what his son was going through now.

 

If this had been Dante, Vergil would have simply upended the water bottle into his mouth and down his throat, protests be damned. But Nero was not Dante nor would he appreciate that kind of violence, as well meaning as it was.

 

 _Figured that out on your own? good for you, deadbeat father of the year_ , something that sounded like his brother laughed mockingly at him.

 

_Shut up, Dante._

 

“ Your body needs hydration,” he finally said, attempting to school his tone into something more patient and gentle. Something more paternal. “ You cannot hope to recover quickly if you continue to refuse.”

 

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Nero looked at him and Vergil could see the exhaustion and misery in Nero's eyes, how pale and clammy his skin was, how the fever still ravaged his body, how his once-closed wound now aggravated him even more. Nero was drained and thoroughly tired of it all. And the very thought of consuming anything, much less the fluids that would help, made him want to (and probably would) throw up again.

 

He had been trying to appear strong in front of him, Vergil realized. The boy despised the fact his body and the poison within him rebelled against him and was making him so ill and vulnerable in front of his father. He perceived this act of being sick and vomiting again and again, despite none of it being his fault, a sign that Vergil would think less of him.

 

Foolish boy.

 

But he was even more of a fool for not seeing it sooner.

 

“ Drink,” Vergil said again.

 

This time, Nero obeyed.

 

(even if Nero did throw up again several times throughout the night, Vergil remained by his side)

 

~.~.~

 

When Nero woke up the next time, he was still in pain but at least he could breath a little easier. And the fact he didn't feel the need to vomit what he ate ten years ago was a bonus.

 

Gingerly, he lifted his head, wincing at the gnawing headache and dizziness nipping at his forehead (could have been worse, he supposed he had to thank the minimal hydration his father managed to convince him to take).

 

He had been moved to Dante's bedroom. Someone – most likely Trish or Lady – made sure the discarded clothing and assorted clutter was moved aside.

 

To his left, Dante was snoring, legs stretched out and one foot on the edge of the bed. And to his right, there was Vergil, arms crossed but also asleep.

 

It was strange to see his father sleeping fitfully. Or look so relaxed as if no one was trying to kill him or that he wasn't looking like _he_ wanted to kill someone. It made him appear a little more human, as strange as it was.

 

Nero sat up, trying to see if his legs were steady enough to walk, when the bed creaked.

 

Vergil shifted and just like that, he was awake and alert and he was staring at Nero.

 

He continued gazing at him, studying him even, long enough that it made Nero feel a bit awkward and fidgety.“ You appear better,” Vergil finally said, like he was trying to find the right words to say.

 

“ Yeah.” Nero rotated his neck, trying to get the stiffness out. “ Guess the antidote finally did its job.”

 

Vergil's expression soured. He made a motion like he wanted to articulate what exactly he thought about the antidote and its abhorrent effects but thought better.

 

“ What you did was reckless and foolish,” he abruptly said instead.

 

It took Nero a moment to understand. “ What?”

 

“ When you stepped between me and that demon,” Vergil said flatly. “ What you did was unnecessary. I would have healed afterwards.”

 

Nero's hands clenched, feeling a burning sensation crackling within his knuckles. It was far too easy for anything Vergil to say to him to provoke him to defensiveness and anger and for his teeth to be set on edge.

 

Perhaps this was what it was like to have a father. They rebuked and reprimanded and criticized, never satisfied, always thinking they knew best, that they didn't need to explain their actions. It was maddening and frustrating.

 

(but if having a father was like this, why couldn't he have one sooner?)

 

“ Not even a simple thank you for getting stabbed on your behalf, you ungrateful bastard?” he snapped incredulously. “ What, you expecting an apology from me?”

 

The look on Vergil's face darkened. “ You almost died,” he gritted out, the words harsh and low.

 

Was that fatherly concern he detected? Or was it his own imagination and wistful thinking?

 

Regardless, Nero's tone softened, just slightly. “ But I didn't,” Nero shot back. “ Did you seriously think I just sit there and let you get stabbed when I had a chance to stop it? What kind of son would just do that?!”

 

Vergil blinked.

 

If it had been any other situation, it would have been almost hilarious to see Vergil so still and appearing like he was trying to comprehend what he heard and was failing miserably. It was as if he had a hard time understanding that someone would show care and kindness and love to him unconditionally and so freely given that he didn't need to do anything to earn it.

 

“ I busted my ass to save you and Dante last time,” Nero continued heatedly. “ Hate to ruin all the work I did. So you owe me at least three times now. You have a problem with that, father?”

 

The title slipped off Nero's tongue easily, without any bite or sarcasm, and he said it without even realizing that he did.

 

There was a twitch at the corner of Vergil's mouth. “ I suppose not,” he simply said.

 

Feeling somewhat more appeased, Nero calmed down. “ Good.”

 

Silence settled between them once again but unlike previous times, there was a certain kind of warmth and understanding this time. It didn't mean that everything was fine and perfect, they both still had some ways to go before they worked out their own issues, figured things out and tried to reconcile what their relationship exactly was.

 

But it was a start.

 

The peace was broken when Vergil suddenly moved and kicked Dante's legs off the bed. “ Since you are awake,” Vergil irritably said. “ You could make yourself useful and get some water and sustenance.”

 

Dante stretched and yawned in an exaggerated manner. “ But we were just getting to the good part,” he teased.

 

Nero tried to ignore the heat that was coloring his cheeks that had nothing to do with his now-broken fever. Even Vergil appeared slightly embarrassed.

 

(it was easy to forget that his father had human blood running through his veins too, V was living proof of that after all, that his father was capable of feeling all too much, perhaps with time, Nero would see more of that human side of his father)

 

(it was something he looked forward to)

 

With a grin that was far too large for his own good, Dante stood up, ruffled Nero's hair one more time for good measure despite his complaints and patted Vergil on the shoulder even though Vergil glared daggers at him.

 

“ Gotta love this family,” Dante chirped as he walked out of the room.

 


End file.
